Imperial Justice: The Dragonborn
by GalacticHalfling
Summary: She thought getting from Cyrodiil to Skyrim would be easy. She thought wrong. A short story of how my Dragonborn ended up on that wagon bound for Helgen.


**_This fic was originally written for a prompt on AO3 in the 'Holiday TES Fanfic Fest!' It was a prompt to write how our heroes ended up imprisoned. A fic about the Hero of Kvatch will follow soon - and hopefully one about the Nerevarine as well._**

**_As always I'm happy to receive feedback even if it's just boring pointers on language or comma use._**

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_15th of Last Seed 201 4E, Bruma_

"Skyrim, you say? Lass, I don't think you should be going there."

Zazira frowned at the bar tender. "Why ever not?"

"Well, normally I would be happy if someone choses to pay the proud land of my ancestors a visit, don't get me wrong. It's just – well, there's been word of unrest over in the Old Kingdom lately. People got pretty upset with the Concordat. It's gonna be a full-blown war, I tell you."

Zazira wanted to ask more, but another patron got ahead of her, dismissing the bar tender's tale with a scoff. "Bah, Falstav, you're 'n old doom-monger. Those 'Stormcloaks' are little more than a band of scoundrels. The legion has everything under control. Don't you go around scaring pretty ladies with your overblown tales of woe." He clapped a hand on Zazira's shoulder and gave her a smile that was probably meant to be reassuring, though to her it only looked patronizing. "There's nothing to be concerned about. There are many good men in Skyrim who keep the country safe. Just stay on the roads and you'll be fine."

"Still," Falstav, the bar tender, eyed Zazira, lingering on her gear which was admittedly still rather new and unused, "if traveling the world is what you want, starting with some place safer couldn't hurt."

They were trying to be helpful, but at that point Zazira started to feel a little offended. Especially, since she doubted that these Nords had any way of telling that she was _really_ as young as she looked. "I can take care of myself," she huffed. "And it's hardly the first time I'm traveling somewhere. Just the first time without a caravan." Zazira had never fought anything worse than wild animals or the occasional robber. But her mother had made sure that she was adequately trained in combat. And as a womer born into the Great House Redoran, Tamisu Llelwyn had held high standards of what she considered 'adequate'.

"If you say so," the bar tender said, but the genuine look of concern on his face made Zazira feel momentarily bad for getting annoyed at him. Clearly he meant well.

"I _do_ know how to shoot straight with this one," she patted her bow, "and I know where to stick the pointy end of that," she gestured towards her sword. "It's kind of you to worry. But I'm not seeking some mad adventure. I just need a change of scenery. It might not be safe, but nothing ever is. Not even staying home." She winced as she added the last part. A memory flashed through her mind of the day the Thalmor armies had invaded the Imperial City. Of a child huddled in the basement while above the burning house collapsed. She shook her head. That was long in the past. Still, it was a reminder that danger could come to you whether you were looking for it or not.

The two Nords didn't seem to have noticed her brief discomfort. "Well spoken," the tavern patron laughed.

"Any way, if I want to reach the Pale Pass before dusk I should get going," Zazira got a hand full of coins from her purse and put it on the bar. "Thanks for the drinks and the advice. Have a nice day, everyone."

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_15th of Last Seed 201 4E, Pale Pass_

Zazira let out a string of curses in Dunmeris, Tamrielic, and a couple of languages in which she knew nothing beyond swear words.

There were notoriously few ways from Cyrodiil into Skyrim. The Pale Pass was the only one big enough for travel by cart. And even that way was perilous. Still, Zazira knew the path well; it was the middle of Last Seed; and she was traveling by horse. It should have been easy.

That's what she had thought before she saw the mountain of snow burying the pass underneath.

For a moment she considered turning around and going back to Cyrodiil. There was no real need to go to Skyrim. Sure, they did have a magical college of some renown, and the biggest community of Dunmer outside of Morrowind. It was the first place for men to ever set foot on Tamriel, a place steeped in the history of mankind's rise to power. Zazira had read so much about it in books, so much that she itched to confirm with her own eyes, or maybe even disprove. Things that she had never had the time to investigate when accompanying her father on his mercantile expeditions. But Skyrim was hardly the only place with interesting history to discover. In fact, the Nords could be rather unfriendly towards Dunmer. Maybe she should travel to High Rock instead? See the Adamantine Tower with her own eyes? Or Valenwood? If she wanted to see something strange and fascinating those jungles would be the perfect place. Of course they were also crawling with Thalmor – but she was a nobody; she could keep her head down and be fine...

Zazira had already turned Dinsi, her mare, around to ride back the way she had come, when her stubbornness kicked in. From the very moment that she had sold her father's company she had planned to go to Skyrim. Her parents had first met each other in Windhelm, so there was some personal history in Skyrim for Zazira. And she had been there a couple of times before, so it was a perfect start for her travels. She wouldn't let a stupid heap of snow get in the way of her plans! She imagined returning to Bruma, entering the tavern, and getting the 'I told you so' looks from the bar tender. No way! She wanted to travel all over Tamriel eventually. She would _not_ start by giving up so easily!

She dismounted with a vigorous leap, and pulled Dinsi after her while she started to look for deer paths. There had to be some way to cross the mountains beside the Pale Pass...

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_16th of Last Seed 201 4E, Jerall Mountains_

The woods were so dark that Zazira could scarcely see the next foot of ground in front of her even with a flame spell burning in her hand. She had lost track of time hours ago. And more importantly she had – though she hated to admit it – got very, very lost. The wet cold of snow had seeped through her boots, and she could barely feel the hand that was still holding the reigns of her horse. Her map had been entirely useless – off the road it wasn't accurate or detailed at all. Nothing but pretty little images of rocks and trees. Zazira had even pulled her copy of 'The Firmament' out of her backpack to try and navigate by the night sky. But once she had finally found a place where the trees didn't cover her view of the stars she had realized that there were too many clouds to get a good look at the sky.

"No worry. I'll just have to wait for dawn. Then I'll know which direction is east, so I can keep north. Sooner or later I'll end up in Skyrim and get out of the mountains," Zazira muttered to herself. She knew that there was no sense in continuing further during the night. But the idea of setting up camp on the icy, snow covered ground didn't seem very appealing, and so she stumbled around in the dark, hoping to find a better place for sleeping.

Suddenly, she heard shouting voices. It was distant, and she couldn't make out words, but those were definitely _people_. Zazira stopped and strained her ears to hear more. Most likely she should give those people a wide berth. Anyone who stalked around in the woods in the middle of nowhere was probably a robber or a necromancer. Or lost. Obviously.

There was more shouting and then the distinct metallic clank of swords. Zazira tensed. A fight! She should run away quickly. But... she didn't even know what was going on... there might be someone in need of help...

She was going to regret this. No doubt. With a sigh Zazira laid a hand on Dinsi's muzzle to hopefully make the mare understand that she should keep quite. Leading the animal at the reigns she slowly edged closer to the noises of battle. Zazira blamed her mother's attempts to beat a sense of honor into her. Or maybe it was her father's constant nicety that had rubbed off on her? A mix of both maybe? Oh, who was she kidding? She had nothing to blame but her own big, bleeding heart and her constant curiosity.

She could see the flickering light of torches between the trees. The noise of swords clashing, the shouting, and screaming grew louder. Zazira cancelled her flame spell and gripped her bow as she carefully moved toward the sight of the battle.

Finally she could get a good look at the scene. A group of legionaries was fighting – and by the looks of it winning – against a group of Nords. Unlike usual robbers they seemed to wear uniforms. Were those the rebels Falstav had been talking about? Anyway, it seemed that Zazira wasn't needed here. And the situation was far too risky to ask anyone for directions. Better get away before she got in the way. Setting her feet carefully she walked backwards.

That's when Dinsi neighed loudly. The sound was answered by another horse very close by. "Dinsi, you stupid nag!" Zaizira hissed. Tugging roughly at her horse's reigns she turned around and tried to run away only to stumble against someone. She bit back a scream of surprise. Unfortunately the other person didn't.

"Some are hiding in the bushes! Get them, soldiers!" one of the legionaries, probably their officer, bellowed.

"Who – I've got nothing to do with this. The horse isn't stolen, honest!" the person in front of Zazira blurted out. The voice sounded young and male.

"Shut up and RUN, s'wit!" Zazira bit out fear and fury mixing in her stomach. That silly boy was wasting precious seconds! For a moment she contemplated turning back to fight. But if she drew her sword on a legionary she would brand herself a criminal. She ran.

She didn't get far before pain erupted in her head, and the world went black.


End file.
